


everything you say, it sounds like sweet talk to my ears

by WanderingCreep



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: AU, Dorks in Love, Eyeroll Worthy Attempts at Flirtation, F/M, Fateswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 12:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingCreep/pseuds/WanderingCreep
Summary: the one where dean has renee's job as a reporter and renee has his as a wrestler. au





	

**Author's Note:**

> congratulate these dorks on their marriage.

everything you say, it sounds like sweet talk in my ears

 

Alright, so, Renee might not be the tallest woman on the roster, but she damn sure feels like she’s standing on top of the world.

She didn’t win the women’s title, not tonight, but she did come one step closer to crossing that item off of her agenda: she won a number one contender’s position.

It was a hard fought battle, a long, sweaty and painful match between herself and Alexa Bliss –the epitome of the phrase ‘evil in pink pants’- but she’d done it. She’d made little miss Bliss tap out with a tightly cinched Black Widow submission hold after two standing shiranuis and a pop-up powerbomb that she didn’t even think she could pull off.

She’d let the referee grab her hand, declare her the winner in the face of the entire arena, the entire world, and despite not having the gold around her waist, she may as well have been introduced as the new Smackdown women’s champion. She was so close. So close.

When she clears the ring, bouncing with a post-match energy that rivals a shot of pure adrenaline, Renee finds herself bundled up with congratulatory hugs from lockermates and staff alike, the ones who liked her of course. She’s sweaty and gross and her blonde hair is sticking out in all different directions, but she accepts them all with the widest grin plastered across her face.

“I knew you could do it, girl,” says Natalya, dragging her close with an arm around her shoulder. “We’ve gotta celebrate; Nikki’s in town, I’m sure she could hang out for a few hours.”

“Nah,” pants Renee, and wow, her heart is still beating so fast in her chest, “it wouldn’t be the same without Brie; she was always the party twin.”

Brie was freshly retired anyway, already too far gone into her pregnancy to celebrate like she used to. And though Renee was ecstatic about her contendership, it wasn’t like she’d beaten the current women’s champ just yet. She was admittedly a little superstitious about that kind of thing; best not to celebrate to early. Don’t want to jinx it.

“Well, alright,” relented Nattie. She pretends to sniff the air, making exaggerated noises before she tells her, “You need a shower though. You smell like death.”

Renee playfully shoves her shoulder, but Nattie’s right. She did just wrestle a near ten-minute match and she smells like what happens when sweat dies.

That didn’t really make sense, but the understanding was still the same. So a shower it is.

She’s shaking with adrenaline as she makes her way down the hall to the women’s locker room, still wired and wide-eyed from riding the victor’s high. But someone’s following her.

They’ve probably been tailing her since she left the ring, but it had taken up until now for her to realize it. Instinct told her it was probably Alexa. Bliss was nothing if not ruthless; it only made sense that she’d try to get her extra licks in backstage when Renee was alone.

She’s expecting to catch a glimpse of blonde and red when she whirls around on her heel, and she’s already begun leaning into a punch, when the white fluorescent light from the fixtures above bounce off of a camera lense and she misses.

Her fist goes flying, veering off to the left and completely missing the dumb asshole who’d been tailing her since gorilla, and the momentum of her swing sends her toppling forward.

“Motherfuck-“

She makes a strangled noise as she crashes against someone’s broad chest, cutting her expletive short and stopping her whirlwind descent to the floor.

“Whoa,” says the dumb asshole, “didn’t expect you to throw a haymaker at me.”

Renee scowls, but there’s no heat behind it. She knows this is just how he works.

“Oh. It’s just you.”

Dean gives her the mischievous grin that shows off his misleading dimples, the one that tricks you into thinking he’s some sort of charming Greek god when he’s really a devil with lying dimples that were too endearing for their own good. “Yes, tis I: a fucker, as you so kindly put it.”

The cameraman, the one who’d probably been bullied into following Dean Ambrose around while he attempted to interview the wrestlers backstage, cleared his throat, probably trying to warn them not to use the type of words that would make the parents in the crowds outside blush and hide their children.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Ambrose, flapping a hand at him, “I know. You know the drill: I’m here to interview you, Blondie. Wanted to be the first to interview the next Smackdown women’s champion; can’t let Bryan have all the fun.”

Renee raises an eyebrow. “That so? You could’ve waited. Talking Smack is right after the show.”

Ambrose winks at her. “Maybe I wanted to get you alone, yeah?” he says, sounding way too suggestive for a man who was dressed more or less like a hobo. How he always got away with wearing ratty looking jeans and a t-shirt instead of the traditional suit and tie like the rest of the WWE's pack of reporters was beyond Renee. Though it wasn’t like anyone could say ‘no’ to the guy; he had way too much charisma and charm for his own damn good. If he wanted to dress like he belonged behind a bar instead of in front of a camera with a microphone, who was going to stop him? It was one of the things Renee liked about him; he was a breath of fresh air amongst the suits and ties of the corporate side of the business.

If a 'breath of fresh air' smelled more like spearmint and leather with a hint of cigarette smoke.

Renee can match his innuendo-game step for step though. You didn’t catch the eye of the dirtiest motherfucker in the business by being meek, and she's got just as much of a sailor's mouth as he does. Like he had his charm, she had hers.

“Oh, really? I guess I could give you an interview,” she purrs with her sultriest smile. “I mean, I was on my way to get a shower, but I think we can work something out.”

The way Ambrose’s eyes go sparkling like some sort of starved, feral animal is breathtaking. That’s probably why Renee took such a liking to him in the first place; he gave such good rewards for giving as good as you received from him.

“Sounds like a plan.”

The cameraman –Renee had momentarily forgotten that he was there- clears his throat again, louder this time, but falls on deaf ears as Renee begins to back away down the hall without ever breaking eye contact with Ambrose, who looked back at the poor cameraman with a shrug.

“You heard the lady,” he says, voice already turning gruff with want, “I gotta job to do.”

“What about the interview?” deadpans the cameraman, like he already knows the answer. Renee will have to apologize later; he probably doesn’t get paid enough for this kind of shit.

“I’ll take notes,” chirps Ambrose. He looks back at Renee, waiting patiently at the end of the hall now, then turns back to the cameraman. “Real good notes.”

 

 


End file.
